


What guilt can do

by dragoonsbeard



Category: Frontier (TV 2016)
Genre: 1x05, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Protectiveness, Rescue, Season/Series 01, Torture, injured Declan, injured michael, worried
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:53:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoonsbeard/pseuds/dragoonsbeard
Summary: Set in season 1 episode 5When Michael is captured and tied in front of a tortured Declan- things go differently.





	What guilt can do

Michaels wrists stung- ribbed raw from the scratchy rope that bound him to a wooden post. Along with it his head throbbed- that however was nothing compared to the crushing worry and guilt that festered in his heart.  
For before him, hung Declan Harp. 

The giant man was strung up, the toes of his boots barely skimmed the mottled stone floor.  
The silence that accompanied his limp body was a ghastly one- the blood that stained harps chest in Scarlett rivets did little to reassure Michael who grew only more upset by the minute.

It seemed that failure was a recurring factor in the young Irishman’s life, he failed to notice he was being followed- that got Delcan where he was now. Michael also managed to get captured and thrown down here alongside the injured man.

With a growl of frustration the blue eyed thief wrestled against his binds, but yet again it was for nought. 

Instead he hissed Declan’s name through the dark in hopes that the man may wake with a glorious plan. Though that did seem unlikely. Whatever mental state harp was dragged into would undoubtedly be a dark one.

young Smyth was met with bitter silence.

Onto plan C then- which was technically plan A ‘escape bonds’

He strained against his rope once more- until he was red in the face and his bones were aching. Reaching the knot was impossible, slipping the loop even more so. Not without any serious damage anyways.

Michael weighted his options carelessly- he was too exhausted to think much harder. And so he was left with limited outcomes.  
Break his hand and have a chance of escape whilst dragging a unconscious man three times his size. Or wait- be tortured and die a painful and humiliating death.

Option one shall suffice.

Michael shifted his weight, bracing himself against the post he sucked in a shuddering breath. With a choked shout he thrust himself forward- the bones in his left hand were unable to sustain the sudden force.

They snapped- the loud crack echoed throughout the stone cellar The cry that spilt from the Irishman’s lips was strained in a attempt to block it. Almost immediately his hands slid free, he fell forward. Teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he hit the ground.

Liquid copper thick on his tongue Smyth hauled himself to his feet and groaned at the hot agony that overwhelmed his senses.  
Michael stumbled towards the tray of tools that lay upon a crate and fumbled with the bloodied objects in search of a sharp knife.

He needed to cut down Declan, however the rope that suspended him was much too high for Smith to reach. He could drag over a barrel- use it as a step, but if he did that he would risk Harp falling and cracking his skull on the ground.  
Standing before the other man Michael held the side of Harps face with his good hand and shook him gently.

“Declan” He rasped “Declan!”

Instantly the Cree jerked into consciousness eyes wild the hair that matted on the sides of his face gave him an animalistic edge. Not recognizing the Irishman at first he thrashed weakly against his ties.

“It’s me!” Michael whispered desperately hoping to quiet him down “Declan! It’s Michael!”

Harp blinked - his one good eye focused on the pale form of his friend warily. “Michael..?”

The young man choked a laugh “yeah. Look we don’t have much time” on his tippy toes Michael reached and nudged the mans hand with the handle of the knife.  
“I can’t reach- you’ll need to cut yourself down”

Declan’s Head was still clouded and confused but he still managed to grip the handle and start a slow process of stripping the rope.

A harrowing sensation crept up michaels spine with a vengeance, Declan’s progress was sluggish- no doubt suffering from blood loss and an emotional trauma that left him numb. The Irishmen wasn’t sure when the redcoats would return, that loose factor left him restless. Lest he forget- he was supporting a broken hand, he couldn’t fight and Declan was almost sitting in his deathbed.

Eventually the fraying rope tore and Harps full weight dropped- Michael was hardly prepared for the abrupt mass that fell into his arms. Declan’s limp form forced Smyth to his knees- the impact on the stone pushed forth a sharp cry of pain from the both of them.

Harps skin was slick with warm blood, the stench of copper was permeating even worse so as michaels face was pressed into the mans collar bone.  
The sudden movement must have torn open some scabs - Michael could feel the crimson liquid sticky beneath his palms.

“I know you’re tired” the Irishmen wheezed “but we need to move”

Declan squeezed the young mans shoulder in reply, too weak with pain to do much else.


End file.
